


Night Out

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drunk Sex, F/M, M/M, Twerking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seb learns the provocative dance move of twerking and gets tied to a lamppost."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/gifts).



> based on a picture sent to me by dynamicsofdatassteroid on tumblr, see [here](http://pasiphile.tumblr.com/post/85421388402/dynamicsofdatassteroid-pasi-our-mormor-overlord), and rosie's idea of stripper!Seb
> 
> Pure and simple crack, really.

There was booze involved.

This, of course, is not an excuse, even if the booze in question was two pints of Guinness, one whisky, one vodka, and more tequila shots than you could count – god, you’re lucky you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.

But the point is, you were drunk. Spectacularly drunk, the kind of drunk where everyone is your (very attractive) friend and extremely stupid ideas suddenly look like the best ever.

And there was a henparty. That explains a lot as well, probably: put a woman in a pink cowboy hat and she goes bonkers. It’s not the first time you’d seen it, nor the first time you got involved.

But, anyway, you were in a friendly, charitable mood, the women were loud and cheerful and aggressive and hot, and their male stripper had failed to turn up.

+++

“ _Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”_

“ _I was drunk, alright? They were eyeing me up already, and hell, it wouldn’t have been the fir-  Erm. Stop looking like that, Jim, it was just the once.”_

“ _I don’t think I’ve seen “work experience: stripper” anywhere in your CV, Sebastian.”_

“ _I was drunk, I -”_

“ _And when you drink you start losing your clothes to the beat of the music, do you?”_

“ _It was a bet! Then, anyway. And it got me laid as well, so. This time it was just – I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”_

“ _Famous last words. Alright, what happened then?”_

+++

You did try to explain it to them, that you’ve been a soldier on active duty, wounded in combat, that you’re scarred, but nothing would deter them.

And the thoughtful silence once you shrugged off your jacket and bared your arms seemed to confirm they really didn’t mind the scars.

Then the maid of the honour – who was the loudest, funniest, and hottest of them all – seduced the bartender into plugging in her iPod, and  _You Can Leave Your Hat On_  started playing and the women all started cheering.

And, well, they were watching expectantly, and it really  _is_ quite catchy music, so it seemed pretty logical at that point to slowly pull off your t-shirt, in perfect sync to the music.

Did you mention you were  _really_ drunk?

+++

“ _So did they stick money down your garter?”_

“ _…”_

“ _Seb?”_

“ _Er… Waistband of my boxers, actually. It was mental, I think I ended up with more than two hundred quid or something.”_

“ _And?”_

“ _And what?”_

“ _And did you go the full monty?”_

“ _Ah. Well…”_

+++

“ _Take it all off,_ ” the bride-to-be screeched.

“Sorry, I forgot to wear velcroed underwear tonight,” you said, which got a whoop of laughter.

Fortunately the maid of honour once again showed her initiative by rooting through the pocket of your jeans – which she had plucked from the air when you threw them at the crowd with a slightly frightening amount of eagerness – and throwing you your pocket knife.

It’s a good thing your hand stays steady even when you’re three sheets to the wind, otherwise you might have ended up castrating yourself. But, to the women’s enthusiastic – hell, by then _ecstatic_ yelling – you dramatically pulled off your pants and gave them the eyeful of a lifetime.

+++

“ _Ah, so that’s what happened to your pants. I did wonder. Did you find them back?”_

“ _Nope. Think one of them stole them, actually. Anyway, can I go on?”_

“ _Oh, sorry, please do continue.”_

+++

So, somehow, eventually, you must have gotten your clothes back, because the next thing you clearly remember is three of the women – including the maid of honour again, saucy minx – dragging you along to the club they were going to after getting thoroughly pissed at the pub. At that point all the cooing female attention was doing wonders for your booze-soaked libido, and it seemed like a damn good idea to go along with a couple of drunk excited handsy women who had just seen you stark-bollock-naked.

Yeah, drunk-you is not the wisest of people.

You can’t remember much about how you got there, all a bit of a blur, but you do remember the club. It was quite busy, but still quiet enough to have enough maneuvering room on the dancefloor. The music was loud and repetitive and it had been ages since you danced properly, rather than just gyrating and grinding against someone who caught your eye.

Still, your little harem seemed pleased enough, although eventually they decided your technique was lacking and they took it upon them to teach you a few moves, including -

+++

“ _What?”_

“ _Twerking, it’s called. It’s – well, remember Miley Cyrus at the MTV awards?”_

“ _Can’t say I do, no.”_

“ _Well, youtube it. It’s – chrissakes, Jim, I didn’t mean now.”_

“ _You made me curious. Aha, here we are, so…”_

“ _…”_

“ _You did this on a public dance floor? With people watching?”_

“ _I was drunk, alright? Really very fucking boozed up, completely out of it, stinkingly blindingly pissed.”_

“ _Apparently. Is there footage of your performance?”_

“ _Fuck you.”_

+++

Anyway, by then it didn’t seem like that much a step between – between  _twerking_ and actually fucking, so when the maid of honour yelled  _wanna fuck_ in your ear – ah, alcohol, the great leveller – you didn’t need to think long.

Of course, by now the both of you didn’t have much patience or caution left, plus the alley behind the club seemed pretty dark and empty, so… Well, things progressed. And your coordination really is still pretty okay when you’re drunk.

Point is, things would have probably been fine, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the hot loud-mouthed maid of honour was a kinky bitch who carried a pair of handcuffs in her purse. She claimed it was for the stripper, but as far as you know strippers usually carry their own accessories.

Anyway, she handcuffed you to the nearest solid thing, which neither of you bother to check because drunk, and then you had sex, which despite drunkenness was actually still quite good.

She pulled her skirt back down, and you found out the solid thing was a very solid lamppost, no breaking that. Furthermore, you’d actually gone to the bother of taking off your jeans again and had accidentally thrown them in a pool off – well, something you often find in alleys behind clubs and bars, which was unfortunate because your boxers were still torn up and in all likelihood residing in some greedy woman’s purse or back pocket.

“Fine,” you said, “Give us the keys and I’ll see if I can wash them out or something,.”

The woman’s only reply was a guilty look and a slow  _“keys…”_

Turned out they were supposed to be in her purse, but in all the excitement the purse had been knocked about and most of its contents were on the ground, including the keys. It was dark, but with a bit of light from her phone she eventually did find them.

Down the sewer.

They just floated past, out of reach, when she pointed the light at them, and you both watched them disappear down the drain with a little  _plop_.

+++

“ _No spare keys?”_

“ _Nope. And these handcuffs aren’t the cheap plastic kind, either – we’re talking solid steel.”_

“ _So? You can lockpick, can’t you?”_

“ _If you hand me piece of wire, yeah. And do I really need to explain to you how fucking drunk I was? And naked, and supply-less. Still, at least I wasn’t alone.”_

“ _Yet.”_

“ _Yeah.”_

+++

She apologised, flapped her hands, started panicking a bit, while you tried to shout some sense in her.

Then her phone rang. Turned out it were her friends, including the bride, telling her to hurry up and get to their van,  _now_ , because if they didn’t leave right now they wouldn’t get to the wedding in time.

The bitch gave you one look, mouthed  _sorry_ , and fucking scarpered, not even leaving you as much as her coat to cover you up.

So, just when things couldn’t get any worse, you realised that what you had taken for a wall was actually just the back of a truck, and the so-called alley was actually a big fucking square. Where you were standing, alone, naked, a used condom on the ground in front of you, scratch marks all across your shoulders, lipstick stains all over your face, handcuffed to a lamppost. As far as humiliation goes, it doesn’t get much worse than that.

So you did the only thing that made sense at the time.

+++

“ _You passed out.”_

“ _I fell asleep.”_

“ _You passed out. Naked. In a public space.”_

“ _Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do?”_

“ _You had a phone.”_

“ _Yeah, ‘had’ being the imperative word there. I lost it. Probably when I flung my jeans into the audience. Or one of the women stole it.”_

“ _You lost your phone.”_

“ _Yeah, I just told you, didn’t I?”_

“ _My number’s on that phone.”_

“ _Oh. Oh, yeah, I. Er. Fuck.”_

“ _Indeed.”_

+++

You woke up with a head fit to burst not that long after, though you can’t remember what made you wake up…

Oh yeah, the girl had turned up again, smiling, holding the spare keys. You’d never been more relieved. You jangled the handcuff, swore at her a bit for buggering off in the first place, but well, at least she’d found the spares now and she was about to help you out of the fucking cuff, so that was alright.

But she just kept smiling, and… And saying something about…

About your friend asking her to wind you up.

“Friend? What friend?” you asked, pulling at the handcuff, feeling like you had to forcefully drag out every conscious thought from the depths of your hungover throbbing head.

“Short fella. Dark hair, Irish accent, snappy dresser. He said - “ she stepped back, grinning. “He said this is your payment for your horrible dancing.”

And then she left you again, with a growing feeling of dread like an icy needle amid the cotton fluff of drunkenness, until you eventually passed out again.

+++

“ _Which is how we find ourselves here.”_

“ _You cunt. You fucking little - ”_

“ _Now now, Seb, be nice. And be thankful I found you, talk about a needle in a haystack.”_

“ _Whaddaya mean, if you told her to - ”_

“ _I didn’t. I just asked her to mess with you a bit, take you for a ride, see what you’re made of, and act accordingly. She’s creative, I’ll give her that. I imagine you spent quite some time in terrified anticipation while you thought I was behind this, didn’t you?”_

“ _I – Fucking hell. Who the fuck is she, anyway?”_

“ _Janine? An old friend. With a very cruel sense of humour. I found you on the CCTV, which is why I’m here now, instead of at eight AM when this place is full of people, which is probably when she would have phoned me to tell me your location.”_

“ _So I’m supposed to be grateful, am I?”_

“ _Well, see where rudeness got you, hm? If you hadn’t cursed at her maybe she would have let you go there and then.”_

“ _Bitch. Alright, so undo these and we can get going, yeah?”_

“ _In theory, yes.”_

“ _Jim, where are the spare keys?”_

“ _No idea, she told me she dropped them in the Thames.”_

“ _She…”_

“ _So good luck, Seb. Show me what you’re made of.”_

“ _What? What are you – Jim! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?! You -”_

“ _Make sure you don’t get arrested for public indecency.”_

“ _Jim! Get back here, you can’t - ”_

“ _Bye-e!”_

“ _…”_

“ _Fuck.”_


End file.
